


you must stop lingering in deathbeds

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Marvel Rare Pair Bingo 2019 [7]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Detective Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Serial Killer Tony Stark, Writer Bucky Barnes, dating app shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 15:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20230378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: “Hi,” Tony says, slipping into the booth. “I’m guessing by your picture, you’re Bucky.”Bucky (or so he hopes) runs his hand over long, unbound hair. “Yeah, uh, I’m Bucky.” He thrusts out a hand for Tony to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Tony.”“Yeah, you too.” Tony hesitates. “No offence, but you don’t seem like the type to use a dating app.”“Oh?” Bucky says, almost shyly.“Well, you’re hot,” Tony says, bluntly. “Hot people usually don’t need the aid of a dating app to get laid.”Bucky stares at him for a moment. “You think I came to see you because I want to get laid?” he says, gaping at disbelief.





	you must stop lingering in deathbeds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Marvel Rare Pair Bingo for the "stuckony" square.
> 
> The title for this fic comes from a poem called 'Body in Water' by Demi Ev. It can be found here: https://kaleidoneon.tumblr.com/post/161365847084/there-is-a-body-in-the-water-of-your-bathtub-its
> 
> The original prompt for this fic is here: https://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/post/185764089376/ladyhavilliard-annieutimagines.

**you must stop lingering in deathbeds**

“Hi,” Tony says, slipping into the booth. “I’m guessing by your picture, you’re Bucky.”

Bucky (or so he hopes, because there's already too many serial killers in this proposed pairings) runs his hand over long, unbound hair. “Yeah, uh, I’m Bucky.” He thrusts out a hand for Tony to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Tony.”

“Yeah, you too.” Tony hesitates. “No offence, but you don’t seem like the type to use a dating app.”

“Oh?” Bucky says, almost shyly.

“Well, you’re hot,” Tony says, bluntly. “Hot people usually don’t need the aid of a dating app to get laid.”

Bucky stares at him for a moment. “You think I came to see you because I want to get laid?” he says, gaping at disbelief.

_Isn’t that why everyone uses these apps?_

“You’re not?” Tony asks, sceptically.

Bucky shrugs. “You were really funny and smart while we were texting. I thought it would be good to come and meet you in person. I’m not, uh, I’m not looking to get laid, not at first anyway,” he hurries to explain. “I just really liked the idea of having coffee with a real person that I enjoyed talking with.”

For a moment, Tony’s thrown. He’s so used to seeing people in terms of body parts and the sins they commit, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to see honest eyes, honest words.

Something in him swells.

He smiles.

“Okay, then, let’s get that coffee, shall we?”

* * *

Bucky is a writer.

No wonder the dating app matched them together.

On occasion, Tony likes to play with fate.

He’s a tech genius, and hacking is like his birthright, but sometimes, he likes to taunt the universe, see what pushes back. So, he searches creepy things, like _what’s the best way to cut off someone’s hands and feet without spilling too much blood?_ or _how do you cut someone’s eyes out while still keeping them alive_?

Apparently, Bucky is what the universe decided to push back.

A writer, a fucking writer.

Bucky writes a fairly-popular action-thriller series, detailing the life of a masked vigilante called the Winter Soldier, a man with a miserable past of torture and captivity and forced conditioning, who now fights for good, after having killed the people that hurt him, of course.

Tony loves the series.

It’s scarily accurate, and Tony sometimes wonders if he’s not the only killer in this relationship (then, of course, he sees Bucky with his hair a bun atop his head, in his boxers, eating cereal in front of the TV with a cat in his lap, and he thinks, _no, no fucking way_).

Bucky brainstorms with him, asks him questions on what he thinks is a mutual interest in the intricacies of homicide or a morbid sense of humour, asking him questions like, “metaphorically, if you were to kill someone, how would you do it?”

Tony shrugs. “Air shot between the toes, it’ll look like a heart attack.”

Bucky groans and surges over the couch to kiss him, deep and filthy. “You want to have sex, now?”

“Yes, oh, my god, yes, fucking yes,” Tony hisses and laughs when Bucky clambers on top of him, bearing him down onto the couch.

“God, you always have the best ideas,” Bucky moans, mouthing at his neck. “And you listen to everything I say and you don’t, fuck, you don’t complain.”

Tony laughs. “What can I say? I have an eye for these things,” he says, ambiguously.

Bucky leans back. “And you don’t think that I’m weird, you know, for liking this, for, uh, for-”

“-getting turned on by this?” Tony finishes for him, lifting an eyebrow.

Bucky blotches a healthy pink from collarbone to ear and nods.

Tony sighs. He grabs Bucky’s hand, long-fingered and made for writing, and presses it to where his hard cock curves against his belly.

“You really think I’m complaining?” he sighs against his lover’s mouth.

Bucky licks his lips, eyes growing hot. “Guess not.” He runs a finger over Tony’s pectoral. “I want to put my cock inside you.”

Tony’s cock twitches helplessly at that. “I want that too.”

Bucky grins with all of his teeth. “Good.”

Tony’s the one that takes initiative, skinning them out of their clothes, dumping them by the side of the couch. He traces his fingers over the crease of Bucky’s hip, the delicate line of his collarbone, the pinkish-white scars that skim his body like cobwebs, and feels that sudden rush of predatory want, so unlike what he feels with his victims, when he gives them a red smile across their throats, slashes their bellies open to show their insides.

This, _this_, is more, this is everything.

He’s boneless, brainless like this, staring up at Bucky through the half-dark of his lidded eyes, as his lover kisses his way down his chest, over the curve of his hip, and palms his cock until it swells in his big, deft palm.

Tony’s always been a man to fuck and fight like a wild dog, but this time, with Bucky, he’s happy to go slow, with his tongue in his mouth and his arms around Bucky’s neck.

He gives a soft, breathy groan, when the first finger, slick with lube, presses up inside him, right to the knuckle, his flush heightening, like a pink stain across his cheekbones.

Bucky mouths at the spot in his blushing throat where his pulse throbs, fast and wild, and Tony shifts underneath him, damp with sweat and restless, just as he gives him another finger, and then a third.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Tony gasps, hips pitching against Bucky’s. “Give me your cock.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky pants, cock spilling pre-come over the curve of Tony’s hip.

Tony bangs a fist against the soft cushion of the couch, when Bucky fills him, stretching him taut. He grunts at the first thrust, and Tony wraps his legs around his hips for leverage, as Bucky ruts up inside him.

“I had this idea,” Tony sighs, his voice verging on a whine, as Bucky’s cock drags relentlessly across his prostate.

“Oh?” Bucky says, tugging at Tony’s ear with his teeth.

“So, the, uh, the next book, _fuck_, you’ve got, uh, you need, uh, you, _oh, yeah, just like that, honey_, you need a new villain, yeah?” Tony chokes out, nails leaving half-moon bleeding marks in Bucky’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Bucky moans, hitching Tony up against him. 

“How about a guy who, uh, _ooh, yeah, right there, right fucking there,_ who, uh, kills according to the seven deadly sins? The Winter Soldier is, _god, I fucking love your cock_, he’s living in that small town, right? Well, uh, what if, _oh, shit_, what if there’s this murder, this husband, he, uh, he kills his wife.”

Bucky hums in interest, lifting them up so that Tony can clamber onto his lap and grind down on the weight of his cock.

“How would he, _you like that, honey, you like it when I fuck you like this_, how would he kill his wife?”

“The punishment for wrath is to be dismembered alive,” Tony makes a little gasping noise, gripping at Bucky’s shoulders. “So, the serial killer, he cuts off the husband’s hands and feet with a hunting knife, and then, he ties his stumps to his headboard so he could bleed out.”

“Fuck,” Bucky pants, finding the tendon in Tony’s neck and biting down, drawing a sharp keen from him. “Fuck, that sounds awesome.”

“You like that, huh?” Tony breathes, bouncing on his cock.

Bucky looks at him like he only has eyes for him. “You always have the best fucking ideas,” he grunts, wrapping a large hand around the nape of his neck so he can pull Tony down for a deep, filthy kiss. “How do you always have the best fucking ideas?”

Tony wriggles about, perched on Bucky’s lap. “I don’t know, I guess I have an eye for these things.”

Yeah, his red ledger speaks for itself.

The next thrust and Bucky cracking his hand across his arse makes Tony’s whole body shudder and go taut, letting out a pathetic whine as his neck strains to the sky.

“Was that okay?” Bucky asks, worriedly. “Was that too much?” His thrusts slow.

“It was good,” Tony insists, in soft, pleading way, tilting his arse out. “Do it again, Bucky, hit me again!”

Bucky pants against his throat and spanks him again, the smack stinging like hell but making his belly clench. Bucky holds him close, hard enough to bruise, big, deft hands on his hips, sure to leave bruises on his skin come the next day and a sweet soreness.

Then, the world narrows to just the two of them on this couch. All he can do is breathe and claw at Bucky’s skin, scrabbling, with his chest hair scratching his nipples. Bucky’s mouth is on his throat, sucking a dark bruise into his skin. Fire licks up his insides and he leaves his own marks on Bucky’s back (if anyone sees him without a shirt on, and Tony’s determined that he’ll be the only and last one to see him like this, they should know that Bucky’s marked, that Bucky’s taken, that Bucky isn’t to be touched).

And then, Bucky’s next thrust catches his prostate and there are lights dancing behind his eyes and he comes, shaking from head to foot. The clench of his insides around Bucky’s cock makes him come as well, his face twisting with ecstasy.

Something pulses wet between his thighs, more pleasant than the blood that usually cakes under his nails, and when he sinks back down on the couch, breathing like his lungs are about to burst (oh, that makes for a good idea; he needs to remember it).

Bucky tilts his head, kissing him on the dark curve of his shoulder. “How was that?” he asks, breathless himself.

Tony stares up at him through the half-dark of his lidded eyes. “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

Bucky sinks back against the couch, smugly. “You’re damn right I am,” he mutters.

Tony laughs and grips his knee and thinks, _yeah, dismemberment is the way to go._

* * *

Two days later, a man who kills his supposedly cheating wife is found in his single-storey cottage house, missing his hands and his feet, which are artfully arranged his corpse, tied down to his bed by red rope around the bleeding stumps.

* * *

“The punishment for gluttony is…” Bucky’s brow furrows, hands pursing over the laptop.

Tony presses a kiss to the crown of his head, smoothing a hand over his back. “To be force-fed rats and toads and snakes,” he finishes for him.

“Yeah, but how do I translate that to realistic literature?” Bucky points out. “I mean, I guess I could have the killer source rats and toads and snakes somewhere, but it would be a pretty heavy thing to do,” he sighs.

“You could have the victim ingest rat poison,” Tony points out. “It’s a fairly common household item.”

Bucky looks up at him with stars in his eyes. “You are brilliant, I love you. But do I just have the killer force feed the victim rat poison. I mean, the victim is one of those money-grubbing, unethical asshats. There’s got to be a better way-” his eyes light up. “Cocaine. The killer mixes rat poison into the victim’s cocaine. When he snorts it, he snorts the rat poison, which kills him, at a party in front of everyone.”

“That’s brilliant, babe,” Tony eases out. “You’re so good at this.”

* * *

A week later, that real estate developer, who’d bought up an apartment complex in Queens and raised rents so all the poor people would be forced to move out, goes to a party, snorts some bad cocaine, and bleeds out of his mouth and his eyes.

* * *

“You could… have him drown her in the bathtub?” Tony offers.

Bucky shakes his head. “Too on the nose.”

“How about one of those sensory deprivation tanks?”

Bucky scrunches up his face. “I think that’s a little too hard to pull off realistically, don’t you think?”

Tony pauses. “Fair point. Well… you could always go for the classics?”

Bucky frowns, leaning forward. “I’m intrigued. Go on.”

“The killer kidnaps the victim. He chains her feet up to rocks and drops the rocks at the bottom of the lake on the outskirts of town. The victim drowns and is ‘immersed in freezing water for all eternty’.”

Bucky pauses. “I have never been more in love with you than in this moment.”

Tony laughs and perches himself on Bucky’s lap.

* * *

The next day, a woman is found at the bottom of a lake, chained down to stones. With her, is a signed confession stating that, forty years ago, she cut the brake lines of a friend who started dating the boy she had a crush on.

* * *

“So, uh, _god, yeah, just like that_, wrath, gluttony, envy, all done. Sloth, I guess, huh?” Tony pants, riding Bucky’s cock like a stallion.

“Yeah, yeah, sloth. How about,” Bucky grunts, as Tony clenches around him. “How about some guy driving around at night, sees a drunk girl walking on her own, doesn’t do anything, drives on and then, she goes missing?”

Tony laughs and pulls Bucky up for a deep, filthy kiss. “This is why you’re the writer, babe,” he sighs and squirms unthinkingly atop Bucky’s cock. “Fuck, you feel so good, you feel so good, honey,” he verges on a whine.

“Yeah, yeah, you like my cock?”

“Yeah, I fucking love your cock. It’s the best. God, it gets me in places that I never even thought of. Oh, yeah, like that, oh, shit, there, _there_!”

Tony cries out as he comes, spilling all over Bucky’s muscled abdomen. Tony clenches down like a vice around Bucky’s cock, and he chokes, pulsing inside him. Tony pulls off and leans down, licking his own come off Bucky’s skin, leaving gleaming, wet lines in his weak, and sinking beside him, damp with sweat and panting.

Tony turns into side, mouthing at his throat where his pulse throbs fast and wild.

“Do you know what the punishment for sloth is, honey?” he breathes.

Bucky turns to him, drags his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Thrown into snake pits.”

Tony sighs and splays himself out on Bucky’s bulk. “You’re so smart, Bucky, and so pretty.”

* * *

Snake venom is a bitch to find, but the father who makes his little daughter walk home from dance class at eight in the night, only to go missing, doesn’t know the difference.

* * *

“Steve!” Tony cries out, delighted, throwing his arms around his ex-boyfriend.

“Tony,” Steve says, gently, hugging him close.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” he asks, opening up the door so he can slip inside.

“I was hoping to have a chat; do you have some time?” Steve asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

“For you, of course,” Tony says, full of sweet fondness.

Before Bucky, it had been Steve that he’d loved the most in this world (and when he doesn’t kid himself, Steve is still a man he loves most in this world; it’s just that he loves Bucky as much as well). They hadn’t broken up willingly, if he were being honest; Steve was a detective, good at his job, but long hours meant long hours away from Tony and he’d never been able to rid himself of the fear of peeling himself wide for Steve to see – if he knew, if he knew what Tony had done, what Tony would do, Steve might have killed him for it.

“Tony, I’m worried,” Steve declares, when they’re seated at the breakfast nook.

Tony’s brow knits together. “Worried about what?”

Steve sighs and reaches out, tangling their hands together.

Tony sucks in a deep breath – he can’t ignore that he blazes to life at Steve’s touch.

“Tony, how long have we known each other?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “God, Steve, I’d forgotten how melodramatic you could be.”

“Just, shut up and listen, would you?”

Steve scowls, and he’s missed that, strangely enough, Steve’s angry face.

“You heard about those strange murders around Queens, the Bronx, all biblical and stuff, yeah?”

Tony stills. “Yes,” he says, carefully.

_Seriously, now?_

Steve takes a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to be really hard for you to hear-”

_Oh, no, Steve, don’t, don’t ruin it, don’t ruin everything_, he almost pleads. _I loved you once, I love you still, don’t make all of that ugly. _

“-but I think your boyfriend is a serial killer.”

Tony pauses. “What?” he blurts out.

_Okay, was not expecting that, was really not expecting that._

Steve sighs. “Okay, let me, uh, let me start from the beginning. I saw his book in a shop and I bought it. Not because I was stalking him or anything. I mean, I was upset when I found out you were dating someone. No one’s ever pleased when they find out their ex is with someone else, and well, you were never _just_ an ex, you know?”

He gives Tony such a shy smile that it makes something in his chest swell.

Steve clears his throat and shakes his head. “Anyway, I just…I was reading his book and I started to think that the murders he described were startlingly similar to the ones going on around New York.”

_That’s because I killed people and then gave Bucky the fucking story._

“Tony,” Steve murmurs, so soft, so gentle. “Tony, I’m so sorry, I think your boyfriend’s the Executioner.”

_Oh, my fucking God._

* * *

Tony scowls, when he steps out in the blinding sun in boxers.

“You have got to be fucking kidding,” he mutters and storms down the driveway. “Are you stalking me?” he demands, gripping the edge of the window.

“No, I’m stalking your boyfriend,” Steve corrects.

Tony shakes his head, biting out an ugly laugh. “You cannot be _more_ wrong about this, you know.”

Steve levels a measured, sad look at him. “You really love him, don’t you?” he says. His jaw sets. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry you don’t believe me, I’m sorry that I have to say this to you at all. I’d never hurt you, if I could. I just… I want you to be safe. I don’t want him to hurt you,” he says, earnestly.

“He’s not going to hurt me!” Tony snaps.

“You don’t _know_ that! All the signs are pointing to him being the killer!” Steve hisses, like an angry cat.

Tony leans in, baring his teeth. “He is not the killer. Stop stalking us.”

Steve returns his smile, cold and sharp. “Just like I said, I’m not stalking you. I’m stalking _him_.”

* * *

“Why is your ex-boyfriend stalking me?” Bucky asks, carefully.

Tony groans and stares up at the ceiling.

“He’s a fucking moron.”

“That…” Bucky hesitates. “That doesn’t explain anything properly.”

“He thinks…” Tony sighs. “He thinks _you’re_ the Executioner.”

Bucky yelps. “What?” he demands.

Tony drags his hand over his face. “He says, he says there are a lot of similarities between your latest books and the Executioner’s murders.”

“That doesn’t make me a serial killer!” Bucky says, incredulously.

_No, it makes me a serial killer._

“Of course not,” Tony soothes. “He’s just… look, Steve just gets an idea and he goes with it, damn everything else. I’ll, I’ll, uh, talk to him.”

“He’s jealous, isn’t he?” Bucky says, knowingly.

Tony looks away.

“I mean, I would be too, if I let someone like you go and I had to watch you be with someone else. It’d make me pretty pissed. I’d come up with some pretty crazy ideas to get you away from that dick-” his eyes widen. “Oh, my God,” Bucky breathes.

Tony’s brow knits. “What?”

“What is Rogers is the Executioner?” Bucky says, his eyes gleaming.

“What?” Tony deadpans.

_Oh, my God._

“I mean, think about it,” Bucky says, slowly, pacing, hungry. “He’s a cop. He has the resources to hide his tracks. You told me he was righteous, religious, he was all about saving the world. He’s stubborn, and by blaming me, he gets rid of two birds with one stone. He ‘gets’ you back, and he puts up a suspect for the murders, taking the safety of being the one to catch the killer for himself.”

_Oh, my fucking God. I’m in love with two morons._

* * *

They’re arguing when he slips into the warehouse.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Oh, please, like you didn’t just do this to throw the suspicion off yourself.”

“Why the hell would I tie myself up? That makes no sense!”

“I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what you’re doing here-”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, you think that if you get rid of me, you’ll get Tony back and-”

“You’re both idiots,” Tony declares, dryly, striding out of the shadows.

“Tony!” both men exclaim.

“It is I,” he says, dramatically.

“Tony, what’s going on here?” Steve demands, rough with frustration, as he fights the ropes binding him to the chair.

“There was no other way,” Tony says, solemnly.

Bucky just stares at him like he’s a lunatic. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tony sighs. “I can’t believe that either of you, as smart as you are, have figured it out. So, I organised this so I could beat you both over the head with it.”

“_You_ tied us up?” Bucky asks, incredulously. “Why the fuck would you do that? Tony, you need to let us go right now.”

“I will, I will,” Tony says, dismissively. “After I’ve had my little confession time.”

“What sort of confession?” Steve asks, suspiciously.

Tony sighs. “First of all, I can’t believe I’m saying this. I promised myself I’d never out myself, so really, this is all your fault-”

“Tony!”

“Right, yeah, okay, I’m the Executioner,” Tony says, firmly.

For a brief moment, he thinks their brains crash. Finally, something flickers behind their eyes, and he guesses that their brains are rebooting.

“You’re joking,” Bucky laughs.

“No, I’m really not,” Tony says, honestly.

“Tony,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Tony, you’re a lot of things, but you’re not a serial killer.”

Tony exhales. “Oh, Steve, if only you knew how wrong you are right now.”

“I’m not wrong. Tony, I’ve known you for years; I think I would’ve noticed if you were a murderer,” Steve argues.

Tony sighs. “When I let you go, you’re going to head out to _Trois Mec_. There’s a head in one of their pots on the stove, belonging to Tristan Kiev. He poisoned his mother, so he could inherit her fortune. So, you have greed.”

Steve and Bucky stare at him, their mouths pinched tight.

“Tony,” Bucky says, breathlessly.

“I understand this is probably a dealbreaker,” Tony says, stonily. “I’ve accepted the consequences and Steve, if you’re going to arrest me, well, you’re welcome to try your best, but I just didn’t want the two of you to spontaneously combust because of what I’ve been doing.”

“Why would I be welcome to try my best?” Steve asks, defiantly. “Are you questioning my skills? Wait,” his brow knits. “Were you using me as an alibi?”

“What? No, no. I mean, was it smart of me to get involved with a detective? Probably not,” Tony muses.

“Wait, were you using me as an alibi?” Bucky asks, his voice threaded with hurt.

“No, no,” Tony soothes. “A writer would’ve been just as worse. To be fair, I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if I hadn’t given you the seven deadly sins idea. I swear, I wasn’t using either of you. I love you, both of you, and I can appreciate it probably isn’t the right time to bring up the threesome question.”

“It really isn’t,” Steve says, flatly.

“Fair enough,” Tony says, quickly. He hesitates. “Is it something you’d consider? I really think that when you take the serial killing out of it all, we’d make a great triad.”

“Tony!” 


End file.
